


Electives, And Other Ways To Get College Credit

by graywrites



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:00:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8086285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graywrites/pseuds/graywrites
Summary: Adults forget what it's like to be a teenager the second they stop being one. What's Maya's proof? The fact that they all keep leaving two teenagers alone together in small rooms. Frankly, though? Maya's just really, really glad she took photography this semester.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt! God, this was a fun one.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t thankful that you’re spending the coldest day of the year in the Dark Room, a warm and fuzzy red glow casting shadows in the closet sized space. 

You glance over at Riley, who’s ablaze in the soft shades of amber, and you smile a little. “Think they’ll turn out well?” You ask, taking a step closer to her.

“Of course,” She says, grin spreading across her face. “They’re beautiful, you saw them. Miss Hart, we are two fantastic photographers, if I do say so myself,” She giggles, draping an arm over your shoulder. 

You smile softly and pretend that the red on your cheeks is from the lights, then lean your head into the crook of her neck and say, “I’m glad we stayed back today.” 

“Well, yeah,” She laughs. “I don’t know what the teacher’s thinking, taking a field trip today. It’s, like, three degrees. We’re better off skipping it to develop the pictures, anyways. Can’t have you getting frostbite, now, can we?” She laughs, swaying on her feet slightly, and you follow in time and try to convince yourself that the temperature is the only reason you want to be alone in this tiny room with your best friend.

Which she is. She’s your best friend, _just_ your best friend, no matter what Farkle _thinks_ he knows when he gives you those knowing glances. Farkle’s always been a know it all, right? Frankly, it gets obnoxious after a while. (Especially when he’s definitely, totally, entirely wrong.)

“Uh,” You say hoarsely. “Uh, which picture’s your favorite?” You ask as she takes a seat in front of the little table where they’re all developing. You follow in suit, ignoring how close the two of you are sitting together. 

She giggles, then grins shyly. “The one we took in Central Park,” She says, looking up at the ceiling. 

You pause. You two only took one picture that day; You brought the camera, but the snow was deep and Riley said that it wasn’t a good idea to take any pictures. (Surely they’d drop the camera or something, which would be especially bad in all that snow.) But you got distracted once- the sun was setting in all these perfect winter pinks and purples and oranges, and it looked like an oil painting, and it was snowing, too, and so as you grinned at the sky, Riley’d broken her own rule and snapped a picture of you. 

“The one of me?” You ask dumbly, and your voice almost kind of cracks, and first of all, you’d like to file a complaint with your throat, because what reason does it have to make your voice crack? None, that’s what, so, see, if it could just kindly work as directed, that’d be perfect!

“Of course,” She smiles at the ground, and she’s almost blushing, maybe. These damn red lights make life a lot harder, you know. “You’re beautiful,” She says simply, with a shrug, like it’s a fact of life, and you swear, you almost scream at the top of your lungs right then and there. 

“It’s hot in here,” You blurt, in a mumbled kind of way, at least, and you tug at your sweater. 

“It’s kind of nice. Warm. Cozy,” She says, leaning forward on her arms. 

You don’t say anything. And neither does she. You look at her, she looks at the wall. And that’s satisfying enough, for now, at least. 

And, if you’re being honest, the hazy dim glow of the humid room is starting to get to you, and frankly, it’s all kind of making you a little dizzy and faraway.

“I, uh… I’m glad you convinced me to take this class,” You admit, looking forward into inky scarlet darkness.

“I knew you would be,” She says happily. “...This is nice. You know? You and me, here, alone together for a while, in a nice warm little room. It’s nice.”

“I like being with you,” You say softly, and you turn your head to look at her, and see that she’s looking at you back, and, well, your faces are only a couple of inches apart- it’s a small room, there’s not much space, and honest, you can explain, because when it’s warm and you’re dizzy and her face is only inches from yours, and, well, what are you supposed to do? And, um, you kind of lean forward- real slow and soft and gentle- and you close your eyes even though you want to keep looking at her- and her lips end up on yours as you sit there, and, well, that’s sort of what happens.

And then, with no warning, you’re pinned against the wall and everything is warm and beautiful and nebulous, and you’ve both kind of opened your mouths, see, and it’s all sort of panicked and frenzied and passionate and gentle and hungry all at once, along with three hundred other adjectives you’re a little bit too distracted to list, and there’s a sort of weird sync to the way the two of you move, connected and knowing, and you swear, you’ve never been so close to anyone in your whole life, and God, is it beautiful, and everything is even warmer, now, and nothing has ever been this perfect, honest.

She moves her hand from your waist to your face, and for once it’s not so bad that she’s so much taller than you, and it’s actually kind of nice, because she just kind of leans down into you, and, honest, there’s never been a more perfect fit of two people in the world. 

When did she get so good at this? Is she just a natural? Are you good at this?

She certainly seems to think so. 

Your chest feels fizzy and bubbly like champagne is filling your lungs, and you think maybe you’re floating, and she takes your hands, instead, and you lean your head back against the wall, and everything is perfect and right and good.

And then the door opens. 

A flood of bright, white light and freezing air floods in, bringing you back down to reality, and the two of you scatter away from each other as much as you can in a room that barely fits the two of you, and in the doorway stands the photography teacher, looking very tired.

“We weren’t-!” Riley starts.

“Principal’s office.” He grunts.

“Yeahhh,” She shrugs with defeat. 

“This would NOT be happening if I had a penis!” You declare, looking the principal square in the eyes. 

Riley stifles a giggle and kicks you under the table. “Maya!” She hisses.

“If I were a boy, we wouldn’t be here, and this wouldn’t be happening!” You cross your arms. 

“Yes, Miss Hart, it would. We have strict rules for PDA here, and you and Miss Matthews were violating every last one imaginable and more when you were found _canoodling_ -”

“Canoodling?” Riley giggles with a raised eyebrow.

The principal glares.

“Sorry,” She mutters with a wince, looking to the ground.

“This is unfair!” You exclaim.

“Welcome to highschool,” He sighs tiredly, throwing his hands up in the air. “Detention. Both of you. After class. Miss Hart, you know the room,” He says.

“Better than my own,” You grin, getting up and giving Riley your hand to help her up. 

He just grumbles to himself about his paycheck as the two of you leave. 

One thing that’s important to know about the Detention Monitor, Ms. Reynolds, is that she is approximately two hundred. She can’t hear and she can’t see, and she certainly has no concept of time, all entirely valid reasons why she should not be left to deal with handfuls of rambunctious high school kids, and yet, she is the detention monitor.

“Watch this,” You nudge Riley as the two of you enter the Detention Room. It’s empty, except you two- the only Friday victims, apparently.

“Miss Reynolds! It’s Four! Detention is over! Time to go!” You walk right up to her, screaming in her ear.

“Oh… Okay, Sarah,” She pats your shoulder, (or means to, at least) stands up, and hobbles out of the room. 

“See?” You grin proudly at Riley.

“Aw, Maya, now I feel bad,” She watches Ms. Reynolds walk away down the hall.

“Don’t. Now she gets to go home an hour earlier and hang out with her cats or whatever. Anyways, as long as we stay in the detention room ‘till four, we’re not breaking any rules. The teacher’s gone, is all,” You grin, shutting the door behind her. 

“What a punishment,” She mutters. 

“Oh, yeah,” You whisper in her ear. “An hour, alone, after school, in this room, just you and me. What could be worse? How ever will we keep ourselves entertained?” You breathe.

You don’t think you’ve ever enjoyed detention quite this much.

**Author's Note:**

> You know what's fun? Reviews are fun. Do that. Request a fic at gayrilaya.tumblr.com/ask


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